


The March

by quadrotriticale



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: M/M, POV Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), POV Second Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-04
Updated: 2018-07-04
Packaged: 2019-06-05 07:30:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15165689
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quadrotriticale/pseuds/quadrotriticale
Summary: He informs you, quite frankly, that you smell disgusting when you hand him back the cup.“I know,” you say, whining as he laughs into the cup, trying to take a sip for himself. “I can smell it, I’m filthy.”You know he’s biting his tongue because he doesn’t say anything, just looks like he’s about to laugh you off the face of the Earth.





	The March

**Author's Note:**

> self indulgent bbc merlin fic is self indulgent

You. Are. _Filthy_. Your armour is _heavy_ , you’re impossibly _hot_ , you want some _water_ , and a _break_ , maybe some _mead_ , maybe just a swift death. You think that sounds infinitely better than this, thank you kindly. You’re a _king_ , and for god’s sake that should come with _some_ perks, you know, like not having to trek for miles in your damned armour in the height of damned summer. You’re about ready to complain audibly when a thought, perhaps the most brilliant idea that you’ve ever had, worms its way through your heat clogged brain. 

You’re in charge here, actually. You can call a halt to the march whenever you’d like. You can take a break whenever you want. Fucking brilliant. So, obviously, you call a halt to the march, tell everyone that you’re going to be staying here for the day because, well, it’s hot. The sigh of relief is practically deafening. You’re half glad everyone was suffering as much as you were. Camp is set up, and you don’t bother anyone when they start tugging off chainmail and plating. Christ, you do it yourself, you’re so hot. 

That done, you’re quick to fix one of your other problems. You have, as you do fairly often, dragged Merlin along with you. He's you're companion even if he is only technically a servant, and frankly, you don’t treat him like that in private or very much so in public anymore, but you’re still going to exploit it, because you don’t want to move, and you think if you try to do anything else before you have something to drink, you’re doing to dissolve into dust and disappear on the wind. You shout until he hears you, wave your hand towards where you think the water is and tell him to hurry, please, you’re dying of thirst as you speak. He says something you don’t quite catch about being dramatic, before going to get you something to drink. He’s back quickly, of course, he always is, hands you your drink and sits down beside you. 

He informs you, quite frankly, that you smell disgusting when you hand him back the cup. 

“I know,” you say, whining as he laughs into the cup, trying to take a sip for himself. “I can smell it, I’m filthy.”

You know he’s biting his tongue because he doesn’t say anything, just looks like he’s about to laugh you off the face of the Earth. 

“I’m never going to be clean again,” you moan, flopping backwards onto the grass. He’s laughing at you, so you swat him, because no, Merlin, it’s not funny, it absolutely isn’t funny at all, thank you. 

He tells you, barely holding back laughter, that he’d find you bathing water if you hadn’t stopped in the middle of a field. Maybe, if you’d gone on a little longer, you would have stopped somewhere with a river, or a stream, somewhere with water, he says, and you kick him this time. You stopped because you were dying, obviously, you wouldn’t have made it another twenty minutes, thirty minutes, an hour. You would have dropped dead where you stood, you tell him, and again he just tells you you’re being dramatic. 

You rest, you eat, someone starts lighting campfires, and you’re still filthy but at least you feel a little bit better, less like you’re going to die and more like you’re going to start being able to peel dirt off your skin instead of washing it. (You tell Merlin this, of course, and this time he tells you that you’re probably right, and it’s going to be disgusting. You frown at him, and he seems to think he’s very amusing. You almost kick him again.) He sits with you, eats with you, talks with you about lighter things to the point where you almost, at least briefly, forget your discomfort. You suppose that’s a good thing, and you supposed that’s most of the reason you ever bring him along anymore. That, and to get you water when you don’t feel like standing. That’s also a very nice perk. You’re relatively out of earshot, far enough away from everyone else that he’s comfortable just calling you Arthur, and you’re comfortable hearing it, and you really do think it’s nice. There are very few people who actually ever call you by your name instead of one of your titles, and it’s nice to hear. You’re just Arthur before you’re Camelot’s king, after all. 

When you sleep, he doesn’t sleep nearly as close as you’d like him to, and you don’t complain because this isn’t exactly a private place, but you’d really like to complain because you’ve grown fairly used to sleeping close to him. It’s almost lonely, even though he’s right there, and you need but reach out an arm to touch him. It’s very unfortunate, you think, that you can’t just… be. You don’t really understand why you can’t, though, you are the king. 

You march again the next day, and the day after that, and whatever was supposed to happen doesn't end up happening, and by the time Merlin tells you it was supposed to happen, you’ve forgotten what it was or why you’re out there in the first place, because it’s hot, you’re thirsty, you’re filthy and you’re hungry and that never seems to go away. So, you turn around and you go home, and when you’re home, you take a bath, thank God. You make Merlin take a bath too, because he smells, and if you’re going to sleep with him, he really should smell decent.

He sleeps in your bed the night you get home, after you’re clean and comfortable and really just glad to be back in your own space. He curls up against your chest and you essentially cling to him, because you like when he’s close, and you haven’t had him close in far longer than you’re really happy about.

You sleep well that night. So does he.


End file.
